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Eight Crazy for Government
Chapter Three On the eve of the presidential election, Eight Crazy Belch decided to throw his hat into the ring. Though it was strange with the race as tight as it was, Eight Crazy told his younger brother that he was running for government. Slumleg was appalled to hear it. Eight Crazy had always been ambitious and was capable of leading on certain days, but taking such a large leap and running not even for president, but for government, was a great surprise to the younger Belch. “Eight, that’s ridiculous,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Slumleg, trust me.” It was difficult not to trust Eight Crazy. He had a way of making people want what he wanted and it was very hard to deny him. He had that sort of charisma that the best men have, exuding some aura of leadership that all men aspire to have. Eight had been like this since he was born. When the Belches were boys, he’d often find himself as their leader. It wasn’t that big of a jump from managing the boys to managing a country. “But Eight, it’s the night before the election.” “So?” “You don’t stand a chance.” “You see, Slumleg, this is your problem. You don’t dream big enough.” “I do.” “And you always contradict me. That’s three problems by my count, Slumleg.” “What’s the third?” “Oh, you’ll find out!” Eight Crazy took his brother’s head under his arm and began to noogie him. Slumleg tried to free himself from Eight’s grasp, laughing the whole time. He managed to reverse their positions and ran his knuckles through Eight’s purple hair, bothering his scalp. “Hey!” Eight Crazy chuckled. “Watch the hair!” He grabbed hold of Slumleg’s legs below him and in a rare show of incredible strength threw him over his shoulder and onto his desk. Eight stood there for a while trying to catch his breath again while Slumleg just lay there laughing. “Alright,” he said, looking at his watch. “I’ll arrange a debate for you tonight.” “Good,” wheezed Eight Crazy. “Christ, I’m getting too fat for this horseplay.” Slumleg made a couple of calls. He’d been Eight’s second in command since he was born, always tagging along with him wherever he went. He had always looked up to his brother as his greatest hero. Using the number of contacts the two brothers had amassed over a long period of time working together, Slumleg had soon arranged a debate between Eight Crazy and one of the forerunners in the election, the Maximum Loving Robot. Eight Crazy put on his best suit, although it was a little too small for him. He brushed his purple tufts for fifteen minutes straight, trying to get the perfect look that would inspire the people. Eight Crazy was genuinely worried. He looked back on his life and realized that this was his dream. He had always wanted to be the leader. He hadn’t just stepped in because he’d had to; he’d done so because he liked to help people. Eight Crazy was a good man at his heart, but the cracks in his armor were showing tonight. He wasn’t the cocksure and convincing man Slumleg usually knew, but quiet and pensive. From the doorway, he watched his older brother going through his hair over and over again as he looked in the mirror. “Hey, man,” he said, walking into the room. Slumleg was dressed far more casually, in the same sweater he always wore; he wasn’t going in front of the nation after all. “Are you ready for this, Slum?” “Am I ready? It’s all on you, Eight.” “Yeah.” Eight Crazy put the brush down on a table and took a deep breath. He walked away from Slumleg and then toward him. He put his hands on both of his shoulders and looked him in the face. Slumleg could see the fear and fire in his eyes. “Slumleg, it’s going to be crazy out there.” “I know Eight. You can do this. If anyone can do this, it’s you.” “I might say some stupid things out there.” “It happens.” “I might make some stupid promises.” “Eight, you’re the best at this. They’re all going to vote for you tomorrow.” Eight Crazy took his hands down and began wringing them together. He shook them out and took a couple of quick breaths, his back facing Slumleg. He turned back around. “I’ll see you out there, Slum.” He walked out the door and into the backstage area, leaving Slumleg behind. Slumleg peeked his head out of the doorway to watch his brother walk into the lights. “Good luck, Eight,” he shouted after him before heading around to sit in the audience. << First | < Back | Next > | Last >> Category:ChapterCategory:The Thirteen Belch BrothersCategory:Part One